The New Deal
by DeniseV
Summary: Far too much must have happened between finding Mark and then the final scene of "If You Could See What I See". This story attempts to fill in those missing scenes.


"What took you so long?"

Hardcastle bit his tongue, initially, as he looked at his young charge, bloody and roughed up and badly injured. The breathy, exhausted sound of McCormick's voice just nearly hid the not unexpected smart-alecky nature of the query. But despite his grave concerns about the shape the man was in, the judge figured that if McCormick was still game for the game, then so could he be, in spite of how dire things seemed.

"You know how much I hate finger food, McCormick. I stopped for a burger." Hardcastle took the time while he spoke to look over exactly what he'd found. The worst, a gunshot wound to the stomach, or so it appeared. Not good. McCormick had a bloody crease on his face, a deep cut high on his left cheek and dangerously close to his left eye. A bruise was forming about that eye as well. There could be far worse damage under the skin than what the judge could plainly see. Mark's eyes, the few times he'd had them open in this short time, were glassy, murky pools, and told the entire story of how much pain his young friend was in. He was sweating as the early morning sun made its warmth known, though there was every likelihood that he'd developed a fever after these long hours laying with a bullet in the abdomen. Infection. He'd clearly been tossed down the ravine – damned Falcon and Price – and could have untoward injuries that weren't apparent. As he continued his examination, he heard McCormick's far-too-soft voice.

"A burger? Sounds good," he said, though it was obvious that he'd only returned the volley for the judge's benefit. Hardcastle knew that food was far from McCormick's mind at the moment.

"Enough of that, McCormick. You wanna tell me where it hurts?"

Mark blinked, trying to get the judges to settle down to one; he'd think about what life would be like with three Judge Milton C. Hardcastles later, much later. 'What hurt?' he thought. Everything. But he knew that he couldn't say that, he could sense how upset Hardcastle already was, so he concentrated a moment, closing his eyes to help conserve his dwindling resources.

"Um, my gut is burning, Judge. Feels pretty bad. They shot me," he added unnecessarily. He would tell about the struggle for the gun later, after they got the bullet out and he got some good drugs. Maybe by then he'd forget to tell about that part. He wasn't in any condition – or mood – to be yelled at by the judge on the apparent stupidity of that move. He knew that Hardcase would have been on the winning end of the fight for control of the gun. Dealing with weapons was something that he was still struggling to find his footing on; he hoped he'd never need to be as comfortable as Hardcastle was with them.

"What else, Mark?" Hardcastle asked.

McCormick snorted an astonished laugh, but pulled up short on it with a far more serious groan. He folded in, an effort to quell the raging ache in his stomach, but broke through the pain to say, "Uh-oh. Must be bad. You never call me Mark."

"It's your name, isn't it? Now come on, what else?"

"Okay, you don't have to yell."

"Who's yellin'?"

"You are!"

"McCormick," Hardcastle growled.

Mark groaned again and then added much more softly, "Alright." He looked around and then asked, "Where am I, anyway?"

"You're in a ravine not far from Kelly's Curve. Looks like they shot ya and then dumped ya."

"I guess they thought the fall would prob'ly kill me." It wasn't an allusion to a John Wayne western, but he knew his mentor would get the reference. Hardcastle shook his head and sighed. Okay, so the judge didn't find the humor in the 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid' reference. McCormick got the hint and continued, "My head hurts. I think there's something hard I smacked it on on the way down. Maybe more than once."

Hardcastle didn't doubt that from looking at the kid. "You have a cut and a bruise on your face. Doesn't look too bad," he added, not wanting to worry McCormick, though the judge still was worried about possible bone injury around the eye.

"Tha's easy for you ta say." Mark saw the tight mouth and impatient look on his friend's face. He went on, "Hmm. Um, my right arm feels kind of numb. Foot hurts on tha' side, too. Left hand is sore."

"How 'bout inside?" Internal injuries, beyond the gunshot wound, could be the greatest worry considering the tumble that McCormick had taken.

"Well, I don't feel up to any one-on-one with you right now, Judge. You'd beat me pretty good right about now."

Hardcastle smiled. "Very funny." The judge looked McCormick in the eyes. "Look, Kiddo, I'm gonna head up and send Millie for help. I won't be long."

"'kay," Mark answered hesitantly. His eyes had opened as wide as they'd been since Hardcastle had found the ex-con. The judge was grateful that McCormick was as coherent as he was – it bode well for the chance that he'd suffered only a minor concussion in that area – but it was clear from the look on his face that he was scared.

"It won't be long. Frank's just down the road. Price tried to run Millie and me off the road. I'll have her drive down there to get him, and then I'll come right back and wait with you 'til the ambulance gets here."

"Oh…okay." Hardcastle gave him a smile and then a light but firm pat on his chest. Mark kept the judge in his sights for as long as he could as Hardcastle made his way back up the steep gorge.

* * *

"Hey," Hardcastle said, trying to get Mark to acknowledge him. "Hey, Kid. Wake up."

McCormick opened his eyes and offered a weak smile. "Yer back." The young man was now shivering, adrenaline, and then later, sheer willpower fending off the chill of shock until now.

"'Course I'm back. Only been gone five minutes," Hardcastle said as he draped the blanket he'd retrieved from his truck over his friend.

"Huh. I…I guess I'm losin' track o' time. I keep fallin' asleep." Shock, the judge knew; it seemed that McCormick's shivering had increased since placing the blanket on him just moments earlier.

"Here, let me put this over ya," the judge said as he removed his sports jacket and laid it over his chilled friend.

"Th…Thanks, J…Judge. It got c…cold out, huh?"

It was not long past dawn, and it was a crisp morning for Southern California, though the sun was warming the day already, but lying overnight on a hillside was never the best conditions for an injured person to be exposed to for hours. The nights could get cool, and last night had. But Hardcastle knew that most of the cold that McCormick was feeling was shock, pure and simple. And the kid wasn't laying in the best position, his head resting higher on the ground than the rest of his body. Hardcastle stood and looked around for something that would keep McCormick's legs raised.

"Wh…Where're ya goin'?

"I'm not goin' far. Looking for something to raise your legs," Hardcastle answered.

"Oh…shock. 's that why I'm s…so cold? Thought it was the w…weather. St…Stupid," McCormick noted tiredly.

"Cut that out!" Hardcastle ordered. "You're not stupid. Can't expect you to think straight after what you've been through. I just wanna do what I can before help gets here."

"'kay," Mark returned, so quietly that the judge was barely sure there was an acknowledgement. Then he heard, equally softly, "Not the only stupid thing I did today." Hardcastle frowned, wondering what the kid meant by that. He'd pursue that after he looked around. It was very possible that McCormick was referring to going to the party at all, against Millie's advice. Hardcastle couldn't blame him for that, after what he'd seen Millie do in finding McCormick. The judge knew that he'd forced the kid into going to the party by the chiding he'd sent McCormick's way – in front of Millie – in the den. Of course he couldn't say no after that. He shook his head; they had some talking to do. Later.

"I'm going to stay in the area. You call if you need me, okay?" Milt asked his injured friend, ignoring the sinking feeling that the young man blamed him for his current situation. It might be so, but dwelling on it wasn't going to help McCormick.

"Sure." One word. Not good. McCormick talked a blue streak all of the time. When he only gave one-word answers was when Milton C. Hardcastle worried the most about the man he'd grown so fond of over the last few years.

Hardcastle looked up the hill and immediately saw exactly what he needed: a wide rock, not too big. The downhill projection would be just right, and he wouldn't have to move Mark, so long as he could control the roll. He got to work and had the rock just shy of his friend in no time.

"Yer back," McCormick noted. Hardcastle noticed that the kid's voice was getting weaker with every passing moment.

"You bet, Sport. I told you I wouldn't be long. Found a nice boulder."

"A boulder, huh?"

"Well, a big rock, anyway. I'm gonna lift your legs and shove it under 'em. You ready?"

"Um, yeah. My r…right foot feels…f…funny."

"You said it felt numb before?" Hardcastle questioned.

"I did?" Mark asked, seeming confused. He noticed the concern on Hardcastle's face and quickly corrected, "Oh, yeah. I remember." He sighed, knowing that he was in no shape to fool the judge, but still… "Now it feels…funny. Like it's th…there, but not." Mark saw added concern on his friend's face. "Th…That doesn't make sense, d…does it?"

Hardcastle smiled. His worry for Mark was paramount, but even more than that, he didn't want the kid to fret about things he had no control over. Plus, as he was sure McCormick knew, an ambulance was just short minutes away now.

The judge had Mark's legs raised. "Thanks," McCormick said, though the shivering went on. "Judge, I j…just wanted to s…say, in c…case I d…don't m…make it…"

Hardcastle cut him off. "Don't say any more. You're gonna be fine, but I think you oughta save your strength. All that talkin' you do exhausts _me_. I'm sure it's not helping you in your weakened condition."

Mark made an attempt at a smile. "But…" he started.

"No buts. Rest, will ya? Or at least give _me_ a rest. You know I've been lookin' for ya for hours."

Mark relaxed, letting the warmth of the judge's words comfort him. Hardcastle's concern for him was powerful to feel, healing in its own way, despite the lack of tact that the retired jurist seemed to have perfected over the time that they'd known one another. The feeling was healing to his soul, in spite of the pain that his body seemed unable to control.

"'s Millie okay?" Mark asked.

"Sure she is," Hardcastle replied gruffly. "Why wouldn't she be? I told ya that she's the reason I found ya."

"'Cause she w…warned us…must feel bad."

"No, I think she's glad you're not dead." The judge grimaced as he said it.

"Not y…yet, anyway. Tired, Judge."

"Well, I don't know why. You've been resting on this nice bed of leaves. Feels pretty comfortable if you ask me."

McCormick snorted a laugh, but that brought on a cough, and then a long moan.

"Oooh, don't make me laugh." Hardcastle put his hand on Mark's chest, making sure McCormick felt it. They looked in each others' eyes; Mark felt the unspoken apology, and so much more that need not be spoken. The retired judge pressed a little harder, and then patted the young man's chest a couple of times at the sound of the ambulance's sirens approaching their location.

"See that? We'll have you to the hospital in no time," Hardcastle noted, trying to keep his voice from sounding too serious. It was a pretty dire situation, but the judge hoped he wasn't projecting the worry that he felt. "Fix you right up," he added.

Hardcastle stepped aside as emergency responders and paramedics did their jobs. He never took his eyes from McCormick's face, and he was happy to do it as the kid sought him out as well. They had a connection, these two did, and they'd had it from that first time they'd met. They may not have known what it meant then, how they would grow to care for one another, how important they would grow to be in each other's lives, but it had been there, oh so long ago.

The paramedics bandaged up what they could, put a cervical collar on his young friend, which prevented McCormick from catching the judge's face any longer. They started an IV. Hardcastle moved closer once they'd placed Mark in one of those metal basket contraptions. He stayed as close as he could, making an occasional comment when he knew that his voice would mean so much to the young man when his face could not be seen. They seemed ready to move McCormick, and when the emergency personnel lifted Mark, he let out a frightened yell.

"Oh…I…I'm g…gonna fall." He tried to reach his arms out, but found that they were both bound, strapped down to prevent injury during transport up the steep hill. "I'm so d…dizzy," he added, followed by a weak, "Judge?"

"Set him down a minute," Hardcastle ordered. He kneeled next to his injured friend and asked, "Is that better?"

Mark answered, "Not really. Everything's spinning. Feel sick."

"Be ready," one of the EMTs said to the other. "We don't want him to aspirate if he vomits," she added quietly. Hardcastle looked at her. She smiled back, compassion showing in her expression, and she addressed Mark.

"Are you going to be sick?"

Mark opened his eyes. "I…I don't know. C…Can't we stay here f…for a minute?"

"Sure, but we do need to get you to the hospital."

Mark tried to smile, though he wasn't sure he'd been too successful. "I don't wanna stay h…here any longer than I have to, but I'm s…so dizzy."

"Rest here a minute," she said.

"Thanks," he sighed gratefully.

The EMT turned to her partner. "Jeff, can you call in, see if it's okay to give him something for the nausea?"

"You bet, Jen."

"Mark, we're gonna see if we can give you something to make you more comfortable. Your friend is here, breathing down my neck, so I'm going to let him sit with you while we wait."

"Welcome to my w…world, Jen," Mark replied.

"Hey, what's _that_ s'posed to mean?" Hardcastle asked lightly, as though offended.

"I was jus' kiddin', Judge." McCormick tried to reach his hand to Hardcastle, through a slit in the basket, but he was strapped in too tight to move very much. The judge placed his hand in Mark's, leaned in closer and said, "That Jen's a pretty one, huh?"

Mark chuckled lightly, having learned that laughing hurt far more than it was worth at the moment and replied, "So now you're my yenta?"

"What does an Irish kid from Jersey City know about yentas?" No matter what other injuries the kid had, it seemed to the judge that whatever bumps he'd taken to his head hadn't caused serious injury, at least not to McCormick's quick and clever mind.

"Jersey City was a big melting pot. 'Sides, didn't ya see 'Fiddler on the Roof'?"

"Sure I did. I'm surprised _you_ did."

Mark sighed tiredly and said, "I would be, too, 'cept I had a girlfriend, she loved Paul Michael Glaser. 'Member him? 'Starsky and Hutch'? We…we're kinda like Starsky and Hutch, huh?"

"You bet we are, Kiddo." Hardcastle felt a hand on his back. He turned to find Jen there with a hypodermic needle.

"Okay. Doc says we can give you something to make you more comfortable."

"'Kay."

Jen frowned. "Are you all right?" she asked, worried about the weakness in the response.

Mark opened his eyes again. He seemed to be having a harder time keeping his eyes open.

"Jus' tired. A little cold."

"Okay. Let me give you this and then we'll get you loaded and heading to the hospital."

Mark laughed, lightly. "Loaded. Not the way I l…like gettin' l…loaded."

Jen smiled as she watched the medicine take effect. Mark's eyes closed. "He'll be quiet, probably, until we get to the E.R.," Jen said to Hardcastle. "Don't worry, it's just the sedative-like effects, and his own body looking to give him a wallop of a hint. We'll take care of him." She patted Hardcastle's arm and helped the rest of the emergency personnel to get the older man's friend up the hill.

* * *

Lieutenant Frank Harper found his old friend Milt Hardcastle sitting in the operating room waiting room.

"How long's he been in there?" Frank asked as he looked at his watch. "Took me longer than I thought, but even this seems fast getting him in there."

"Only about ten minutes. Said that he was lucky it was a mild night, good idea to raise his feet and get him warm. They said it made getting him stabilized a lot easier." Hardcastle said all of this as he looked to the double doors of the O.R., as though the ten minutes was enough time to produce someone through said doors who would tell him that McCormick was fine. He finally looked at Frank. "What about Price and Falcon?"

"They're falling all over each other, givin' the other one up," Harper replied. "Idiots. If it had just been the money they'd each be out in a few years. Murder and attempted murder…" He didn't finish the thought.

"They'll rot in prison and it'll be too good for them." The police lieutenant didn't disagree with the sentiment of the retired jurist on that point, in light of what the two had done to their friend.

"So, what are they operating on? Just the bullet?" Frank queried as he finally sat down next to his worried friend.

"Nah. X-ray showed the bullet nicked a rib and left a sizable crack, but then it lodged in the stomach, behind another rib. It's a complicated location, and because it perforated the stomach, we could have a problem with peritonitis. He had a slight fever, but the surgeon said that they needed to get in now to fix this."

"The shot was fired at close range," Frank noted.

"Yeah, but the doc said he's lucky that it didn't make it to the kidney, though all that ribcage would have stopped that. How do they say stuff like that, that he's _lucky_? He's got a bullet in a vital organ for chrissakes!"

"Let's not give ourselves something to worry about that might not be anything, Milt. Besides, Claudia is a firm believer in positive thinking. She said to remind you that he's young and strong."

Hardcastle rubbed his hand over his face tiredly. "Yeah, you're right. Kid has the damndest luck, though."

"Apparently he does. He's the one who got Millie involved, right?" Harper had a vague understanding of Millie's involvement in finding McCormick.

"I suppose. Where is Millie?"

"I had a unit take her to headquarters for her statement. They'll bring her back here soon."

"That's good. Thanks." The judge looked over to the double doors again.

"Did they say how long they thought he'd be in there?" Frank asked.

"Couple hours, at least."

"Tell you what," Frank said as he tapped his hand on Hardcastle's knee. "I'm gonna head home, get some breakfast and a shower. I'm gonna bring you back something to eat and some coffee."

"Okay," Hardcastle agreed, still completely focused on the O.R. doors.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Harper said as he stood. He might as well have been talking to an empty room.

* * *

What Frank Harper hoped more than anything as he walked through the hospital's outer doors, a breakfast sandwich and a thermos of coffee courtesy of his wife in hand, was that he'd have to spend the next while tracking down Hardcastle, that the surgery was over – and successful – and they were making their way to a regular room, not intensive care. That would be an irritation – trailing them all over the hospital - that he'd be happy to live with.

As he approached the O.R. waiting room, however, he was disappointed to find the retired judge still there, but encouraged when he saw what must have been the surgeon sitting across from Hardcastle. Millie was there as well.

"Hold on," the judge said to the doctor. "Come on over. Doc's finished and he's giving me an update. Dr. Maxwell, this is Lieutenant Frank Harper, Mark's friend and the officer in charge of this case."

Frank was pleased with the introduction, for though he thought of himself first and foremost as a cop, he _was_ Mark's friend. A lot of his police brethren would be skeptical of such a friendship: an ex-con always an ex-con in their eyes, an 'ex' in front of the moniker meaningless in the very black and white world they lived in. Frank knew better, just like he knew the best cops saw all of the colors that made society so diverse and policing so challenging. _He_ knew that Hardcastle's experiment had finally paid off – big-time. Mark McCormick was a good man, and someone he trusted. He trusted Mark to watch out for his good friend. He even trusted Mark with his _own_ life. It was high praise, well-earned. Mark McCormick was definitely not J.J. Beale. And Mark definitely didn't deserve to have _this_ happen to him.

The surgeon extended his hand. "Good to meet you. I understand that you've apprehended the men who did this to Mr. McCormick."

"Yeah, we got 'em." He turned and greeted Millie with a nod.

"Lieutenant," she said simply.

"Good. That's very good," the doctor said. "Well, Mr. McCormick…" Hardcastle cut him off.

"It's Mark. He'd prefer it if you called him Mark." Frank looked at Hardcastle quizzically. The judge shrugged and said, "He would."

"I'm not arguing with you, Milt," Frank returned with a smile. Hardcastle waved his hand in the air, dismissing his policeman friend with a grunt. They both knew they could count on just a few fingers of one hand the number of times the judge had called McCormick by his given name. The doctor smiled. He knew that people dealt with stressful situations in different ways. With these two, it seemed a snippy banter was their way.

"Mark it is," he said. "Mark is going to be fine." The doctor, the policeman and the psychic could feel the held breath release from the retired jurist. "He'll need to stay here a few days. I want to make sure his stomach incision has a good start on healing. And hopefully the antibiotics will fend off the effects of the peritonitis. It's a mild case, but he has the fever and between the surgery and the peritonitis, he will be in pain and uncomfortable. That will be easier to handle here. I strapped his arm; it was dislocated and we adjusted that while we had him under. His left hand is badly bruised, but the swelling should go down in the next day or so. The films show no trouble from the knock to the head, but we'll observe him carefully for the next while. His right foot also had a bad bruise. Judge, based on how lucid he was when you waited with him, I think he just has a mild concussion. He will be tired, his body will be working hard against the infection and to heal from all of his injuries."

"He had a couple of moments where he seemed a little out of it," Hardcastle noted.

"I don't think it's anything to worry about. But like I said, we'll keep an eye on him."

"How about internally? And what about his eye?" Hardcastle had nearly forgotten about that with all of the other injuries to worry about.

"He's good. The bullet did cause quite a mess, but we fixed everything. He's not strapped for the ribs because of his incision. But being bedridden for the next day will help with that healing, too. We'll have him up walking the day after tomorrow, though. We don't want to risk pneumonia with him lying around too long. Nothing to worry about with his eye. Everything's intact, it'll just be sore, like everything else."

"His prognosis is good, then?" Frank asked.

"Definitely. He should take it _very_ easy, though. He's got a lot of healing to do."

The judge looked to Millie, who nodded her head in agreement, knowing already what he was going to say, though that knowledge had nothing to do with her _visions_. "We'll make sure he rests," Hardcastle insisted. "When can we see him?"

"It'll be at least an hour by the time he's out of recovery and in a room. Rest easy, Judge Hardcastle. He's going to be fine."

"Thanks, Doc," the judge said as he stood and shook the physician's hand, a happy, relieved smile crossing his face for the first time this long night and morning. Harper noticed that he seemed far more unsteady on his feet than he was letting on.

"Thank you, doctor," Frank said as he directed his old friend to one of the chairs. "Milt, sit. Eat."

"Bossy," Hardcastle quipped as he sat back in the chair and reached in the bag.

"It doesn't usually work with you," Frank said with a hint of annoyance. They both looked to the O.R. as they heard Dr. Maxwell quite clearly chuckling at their expense.

* * *

An annoying bee was buzzing. But worse than the annoying bee that was trying to interrupt his sleep was the unbelievable pain in his gut. What the hell? What had Hardcase gotten him into this time? The buzzing was getting louder, and kind of frantic, and it was now mixed in with a low, deep growl. And then, all of a sudden, the bee sounded just like Hardcastle. Then he imagined a bee with Hardcastle's ruddy face and he laughed, but the laugh changed instantly into that low, deep growl that he'd heard with the buzzing before. He finally recognized the growl: it was his own voice moaning at the pain that the vibrations the laughing had caused his already painful stomach, a pain that was morphing from unbelievable to unbearable.

"Take it easy, Sport. The nurse is coming back with something to help with the pain."

"Judge?" Mark asked, his teeth grinding hard to bear the throbbing ache. It felt like the ocean tides, coming and then coming again, never letting up. He loved it on the beach, that feeling of the never-ending ocean. It wasn't so good in its current incarnation.

"Yeah, it's me," the Judge said as he pushed some sweaty curls from McCormick's brow. "What was so funny?" Hardcastle asked. He figured a little conversation might take the kid's mind off the pain.

"Oh, 's nothin'," McCormick answered tiredly. "Dream, I guess," he lied.

"Tell me about it."

Mark slowly, finally, had his eyes open. Nope, no bee with Hardcastle's face. Thankfully. He was so happy to be alive, though the pain was making him question how much he wanted to remain awake.

"I…well…" Mark was also beginning to question how wise it was to tell the judge about 'Bee' Hardcastle. McCormick already knew that Hardcase thought he was a bit flighty, on a good day.

"'S nothin', really.' McCormick looked around. He couldn't tell from the light what time of day it was. The blinds were drawn. "How long?"

"We found ya this morning, 'bout seven. It's almost seven in the evening."

"I've been out that long?"

"No, but you were pretty out of it the first time you woke up after surgery. I'm not surprised you don't remember. Millie was in to see you, too." The judge could tell that the kid wasn't really interested; he had other more pressing concerns. "You're in a lot of pain, huh?"

"Yeah," Mark answered. His next question showed how much he didn't want to talk about that. "We get 'em?" His eyes were nearly closed again. McCormick seemed like he wouldn't be awake too much longer this time, either.

"You bet. They're guests of the LAPD as we speak."

"Mm. Good." He blinked his eyes, trying to stay awake, but he could tell it would be a losing battle. "Sorry," the ailing man said, followed by, "tired."

Hardcastle patted Mark's good shoulder. "Don't feel you have to entertain me, Kid. Sleep is what's best…" Hardcastle stopped talking and gave a sad smile as his young friend breathed in and out in the restful rhythm of sleep. The occasional hesitation was surely to do with the pain. The judge turned around as the nurse walked in.

"Oh, already back to sleep?" she asked.

"Yeah. Seemed pretty exhausted, and in a lot of pain."

"He's been through a lot. This would have knocked him out anyway, in his condition. Sleep will help him heal faster," she said as she injected the pain medication into the IV. "You should go home. He's not likely to wake again for many hours."

"Yeah, well, look. He was a little disoriented when he woke up. I'd like to be here for the next time, just in case."

"Judge, that won't be until the very early morning hours at the soonest."

"I can stay."

The nurse smiled. "Tell you what. Maybe you could get some sleep, at home, and then come back. We don't normally allow visitors in the middle of the night, but Charlie Friedman is my uncle, and he said I might get a request like this from you. He asked if I could accommodate you. I noticed he didn't add, _just this once_." She smiled wryly as she said it.

"Charlie's been here?"

"I believe you were with the detectives when he stopped by. He caught me on his way out, just before my shift. He's always been fond of you, Judge."

"How come I didn't know about you?" Hardcastle had never heard about a niece. He knew that his friend had never had children of his own, but he was surprised that Charlie had never mentioned nieces or nephews to him before. He squinted to get a look at her nametag.

"Charli, actually Charlotte Wilson. Uncle Charlie calls me 'Chuck'. It's an inside joke. You can call me Charli."

"Were you named after him?"

"No, but he tells everyone that I was. I don't know why you haven't heard about me, though Uncle Charlie is kind of a private guy. And I grew up back east, and I just came back after five years in Africa."

"Africa, huh?"

"Yeah. I worked in a small clinic, met my husband there." She smiled broadly. "I'm a newlywed," she leaned in conspiratorially and told Hardcastle quietly.

"McCormick will be sorry to hear that. When he's not flat on his back and unconscious, he does like to flirt with pretty ladies. He's not exactly the best at it," the judge added, making Charli his own conspirator on this bit of knowledge. Charli laughed, but the smile melted away as she looked at her patient.

"It's terrible what happened to him. Why would someone do that?"

"Charli," Hardcastle said as he walked with her to the door, "there are a lot of terrible things people will do to others when they feel threatened. But he's going to be okay, and that's what's important." They were now outside of McCormick's room. A uniformed officer was sitting just outside the room.

"Officer Brown here tells me that there is a chance that they might try something else," Charli said worriedly.

"It's just a precaution. We think we got the only ones involved, but just in case, while McCormick's here, Frank and I are leaning on the side of overly-cautious."

"He means a lot to you," the nurse said as they walked to the elevator.

"He means a lot to me," the judge said as he entered the elevator. "I'll see you at three A.M.?"

"I'll be here," Charli replied with an engaging smile.

"McCormick's gonna fall in love," Hardcastle said out loud in the empty elevator. "Again," he added with a grin.

* * *

"Ah, damn it," the judge said as he entered McCormick's room at the agreed upon time the next morning.

"Yeah, his fever spiked a little before midnight. We've been keeping him cool, and Dr. Maxwell called in a new antibiotic. It seems to be working. His fever broke just a little while ago. It should head steadily down now."

"Poor kid."

Charli gave Hardcastle a sympathetic smile. "Have a seat, judge. He's been talking a little, nothing too coherent, but I think he'll be waking soon. He may need you."

"Thanks, Charli. Is it okay to talk to him?"

"Sure, I'm sure he'll get comfort from hearing your voice. Take this cloth every half hour and rinse it in that bowl, it'll keep him comfortable. He's been restless and kicking his coverings off. He should stay covered, though, or he could get a chill."

"I can take over for now," Hardcastle told the young nurse.

"Okay. Use the button over on the left railing if you need anything. I'll be back in to check on Mark before I leave, in about an hour. But call if you need anything before then."

"Thanks." Hardcastle looked at his friend. His hair was matted down from the cool, wet cloth. He was sweaty on his face and his neck, and he was kicking his legs slightly, and moving his head back and forth in a restless manner. "Kid, I'm so sorry about this. But you're gonna be fine, the doc says so. He even said you'd only need to be here for a few days. You gotta be happy about that. And you can lead a life of leisure for a while at home. No work, no hedges or mowing or cleaning the pool. You need to rest up and get better, that's all you gotta think about for a while. I know this case mighta given you second thoughts about continuing on as Tonto." Hardcastle choked up as he thought about how McCormick might not even be here, if the bullet had been a little higher, if it had been a higher caliber, if… He knew that he'd accept McCormick's decision not to be his partner in crime any longer. He wouldn't blame him for wanting to call it quits. The poor kid had had more than his fair share of hurt because of these cases they worked. "Well," the judge continued, "we'll wait and talk about that later. We're not in any rush. We can take some time. And I promise I'll take a break from it as long as you need to recuperate." Hardcastle stopped talking as he continued to rub Mark's wrist. It was hard to find a good spot to touch him. His right shoulder was bound, his arm tight against his body. His left hand was wrapped, and the IV was in that arm. There was a spot just between the wrapping and the IV, which they'd had to put up further on his arm. He'd been rubbing that wrist for a while, looking at it as he spoke. He finally looked up and saw worried, weary blue eyes looking at him.

"Hey, you're awake!" Hardcastle said with more enthusiasm than he felt. He had talked himself into a bit of a depression. He hoped that McCormick hadn't…

"What's wrong?" the kid asked. "You're not thinking…" he coughed a little, "of quitting, are you?" he asked softly, coughing again at the end. "Can I get a drink?" he asked, his throat scratchy.

"Sure." Hardcastle poured him some water, and brought the cup and straw to him. "I'll hold it," the judge said, "both your wings are out of commission for a bit."

McCormick took a long sip and said, "I see." He took another drink and then said, "Thanks," indicating that the judge could set the cup down for now. "What…I think I heard you talking about not goin' after the bad guys. That's not what I want, if that's what you're thinking."

Hardcastle wasn't sure McCormick really knew what he wanted right now. Too many drugs, too much pain, too little time to contemplate what had happened to him. But he also didn't want to upset the patient. He'd have to step carefully through this minefield.

"I think you ought to just think about getting better. You have some healing to do. You know, you were hurt pretty bad this time."

"I know. I feel like crap, believe me, I know. But I'll get better." McCormick looked for confirmation of that in his friend's eyes, but he wasn't seeing what he'd hoped he'd see. "I am gonna get better, right Judge?"

"Of course you are. What's the matter, you think I'd keep something like that from you? Dr. Maxwell says you're going to be fine."

"How come I feel like crap? And where I don't feel like crap I feel kinda numb."

"You're on some pain medication, Sport. And you spiked a pretty high fever overnight. Peritonitis, they called it. Something about infection, but they've got you on a stronger antibiotic and they think that's doin' the trick."

Mark laid his head deeply into the pillow. "'m tired," he said, but opened his eyes and looked firmly at the judge. "But I wanna talk about _not_ quitting."

"Well, we'll talk about that, but not right now. You should go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Time izzit?"

"It's early morning. Go to sleep."

"I am sleepy," Mark agreed. Hardcastle said no more and watched as the ex-con fell back to sleep. He had always used McCormick's convict status as leverage with the young man. He knew, and he knew the kid knew, that it was the fear of going back to prison that kept him in line. Barely in line. But as he watched his friend sleep he realized how wrong it was to continue that way. He knew that he would have to work hard to stop bringing it up, McCormick's past, and their deal. That deal was something that should be left in the past, the papers ripped up and tossed in the garbage. Mark McCormick was a special person who had wormed his way into the judge's life – and into his heart – and it was long past time to rid themselves of the vestiges of that agreement. The arrangement – the experiment as Frank liked to call it – had worked. But it was time to move on. Hardcastle just hoped, and McCormick had given him hope on this very early morning, that moving on didn't mean the end for them as a team. Even though he had admitted to McCormick before that he'd made this arrangement so that he wouldn't have to live a lonely life in retirement, his feelings for Tonto had grown more as the months and then years went by. He loved him, like a son. Just like a son. Hardcastle remembered what that felt like. Millie's words, 'Do you want to lose another son?' - they rang in his mind. He didn't want to lose another son. He didn't know what he'd do if he lost McCormick. He hoped that as their new arrangement came to fruition, whatever it was, however it turned out, that he'd be able to tell the kid that. He wasn't real good with words, not those kinds of words, but he knew they needed to be said. And he knew that of anybody on the face of the earth, that Mark McCormick would appreciate hearing them. Hardcastle felt great hope for the future in this moment. He checked Mark's forehead, found it cool. He grabbed the pillow from the empty bed in the double room, sat in the chair next to McCormick's bed, and promptly fell asleep.

Close to an hour later, Nurse Charli Wilson came into the room to find both men sleeping peacefully, snoring in counterpoint. She smiled, did a quick vitals check on her patient, and nodded with satisfaction. She pulled a notepad from her pocket, wrote something quickly and slipped the paper stealthily into Hardcastle's lightly fisted hand before leaving the room.

* * *

"I feel good today. How come I can't go home today?"

The judge knew the kid was feeling better: the whining was back. But Hardcastle knew that as they continued to reduce McCormick's pain medication that the healing man had yet to feel the real pain of his injuries. He was well on his way to getting better, but he still had a long way to go.

"You know why. The doctor wants to make sure you're pain medication is at the proper level, and you still need to eat some solid food without getting sick."

"Aw, come on, that was just 'cause I ate too fast."

"For both solid meals that they've tried?"

"I was hungry," Mark justified quietly.

"You don't even like hospital food," the judge commented.

"I know. I don't get it, except that I'm starving!"

"Quiet down. You didn't do so hot with breakfast, but lunch is coming soon."

"And what, Judge? You're here to make sure I don't snarf it?"

"That's one way of putting it, Kiddo. You wanna get out of here, dontcha?"

"Yeah." They both sat in silence. Hardcastle was used to this, the point where McCormick starts to feel a little better and starts to feel like he's back in prison. He felt for him, but Hardcastle knew there was no pushing the recuperation. It took as long as it took, but McCormick was never a very patient patient. The door opened; lunch was served. The tray was placed in front of the patient and Hardcastle stood, watching. McCormick had his first spoonful of soup in his mouth when he realized that the judge was staring at him.

"Are you going to stand there like that the whole time I eat?" he asked as he took another spoonful. Beef barley, and not bad at that.

"Yes. You need a monitor and I've been nominated."

"Don't you want to sit or something?" McCormick asked as he put the dressing on his salad.

"No. I'm fine here."

"You're makin' me nervous."

"No I'm not. Now eat."

"Come on now, Judge. You don't want to rush me."

"You know what I mean, McCormick," Hardcastle said, irritation in his voice.

"What's the matter, you got a date?"

"Eat!" the judge directed. McCormick put his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

"You _do_ have a date!"

"And I'm gonna be late if you don't stop talking and start eating." Hardcastle grabbed the fork and placed it in Mark's hand. "Eat!"

"Who's it with?" McCormick asked as he cut into the chicken cutlet. "She pretty?"

Hardcastle rolled his eyes. "I'm having lunch with your nurse, Charli, and her uncle."

"Charlie Friedman. That's neat, isn't it?" McCormick ate and talked at the same time, eating a little too fast for Hardcastle's taste. "Small world, isn't it?"

"Slow down, and didn't you ever learn not to talk with your mouth full?"

"'s not full. It's surprising that they're really related by blood. _She's_ very pretty."

"I'll be sure to tell Charlie you said so," Hardcastle said with a wry grin.

"Oh, I'm sure he already knows."

Hardcastle nodded his head. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Hey, Jen Green stopped by," Mark interjected as he ate the mushy mixed vegetables.

"Who's Jen Green?"

"You know, the EMT? She helped me in the ravine."

"Oh. She stopped in to see you?" Hardcastle looked at McCormick, waiting for more. The man in the hospital bed seemed more intent on finishing his entrée so that he could get to his dessert. "So?" the judge encouraged.

"She was just checking to see how I was doing, in between runs."

"And…"

"And, she's nice."

"I know that, McCormick. Anything else?"

"Nope."

"Ah, Kid, you really suck at this."

"I know. I don't know what it is. I think I'm charming enough, pretty good looking. And look at me. I'm in a hospital bed. The only thing missing is the puppy."

"Well, maybe the fact that you got shot scared her off," Hardcastle surmised.

"Maybe. Huh, this wasn't a bad lunch."

"Did she come to see you during a meal? That could explain it," Hardcastle joked.

"No."

"You feel okay? Don't feel sick to your stomach?"

"No. Did I eat slow enough for you?"

"Slow enough that I'm now late for my lunch date. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm tired. Why'm I always tired?"

The whining was back, belayed only long enough for the kid to eat. Things were more back to normal than the judge originally thought. Hardcastle moved the rolling tray away from his friend. "Because you were shot three days ago and left to die. Go ahead and sleep. I'll see you later on."

"Say hi to the Charlies for me."

* * *

"Wake up!"

"What? I've only been out here…oh. I guess I fell asleep. Look! Cookies!"

"In the sun. You fell asleep in the sun. Have you no sense whatsoever? Here," Hardcastle handed McCormick his hat.

"Thanks. I used sunscreen." Mark reached for a cookie.

"We're in Southern California!" Hardcastle took a cookie, too.

"Look, I came out here because I knew I was gettin' on your nerves. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, it's not your fault, what happened. And you can't help that you need help."

McCormick squinted at his friend. Now was probably as good a time as any to tell the judge what really happened. "You know, Judge, I mighta been at fault for what happened."

"No ya weren't. It was my idea to go there that night."

"Yeah, but I went for the gun."

Hardcastle frowned and then glared at the man lounging before him. "Whaddya mean, you went for the gun?" He leaned forward and asked, "Is this a different story from what you told Frank?"

"Only in one respect. They shot me, and I was sure they were gonna shoot me. And I knew they were gonna shoot you if they got the chance. So I figured I'd throw a wrench in their plans and, well, I went for it. Didn't work out, but I think it distracted them enough that they had to change their plans and move fast in getting rid of me."

"Did you think that maybe they might just have led you at gunpoint and maybe tied you up?" the judge asked.

"No. Do you? They killed your friend and they killed his secretary. I really didn't think there was any question that they would kill me, and you." Mark scowled and then challenged, "You don't really think I should have done nothing?"

Hardcastle and McCormick stared one another down, but the young man appeared to be the winner of this game of chicken. The judge waved his hand in the air and said, "Nah. You did what you thought was best." He added, "You have good instincts, Kid. I'm sure you did the right thing."

Hardcastle pulled out his newspaper and the two remained quiet for a long time. McCormick ate another cookie, and so did Hardcastle. The judge wanted to say more, but it just didn't seem the time. And as McCormick got better and better, it was important that he not give the kid too much leeway, because one of the many things he'd learned about Mark McCormick these last three years was that if you gave him an inch, he would take several miles. It was a quality that sometimes worked out, and sometimes didn't. His worry about telling the kid how he really felt about him was sort of in line with this characteristic in his friend. Once McCormick knew for sure how closely the judge held him in his heart, would it be this knowledge that made him go too far one day, take one chance too many, do something from which he was unable to return from the brink? No, now was not the time. He could see that time coming soon, but until that time, Hardcastle still needed to do his part in keeping the kid in line.

The judge reached for the last cookie, but received a hard slap from the sun worshipper in the lounge chair. Hardcastle nodded, knowing he'd made the right call.

"Is it time for my nap yet?"

The End.

* * *

I am a buddy movie/television show junkie. I admit it. It's my drug of choice. One day when I was feeling a little bored I checked out the fan fiction of some of the buddy shows that I never got hooked on during their original runs. I'm a bit of a snob when it comes to what I will read. It needs to be well-written, of course, and it needs to be obvious that the person who wrote the story cared enough about it, and the language, to make sure it had all the bells and whistles, and the t's crossed and the I's dotted. In other words, if I find lots of mistakes early on, I'm outta here. We all make mistakes, but something riddled with mistakes says an awful lot to me about how much respect the writer has for his or her subject. Respect for the characters and the story is very important to me.

I found Hardcastle and McCormick fanfic not all that long ago. What I found, to my great pleasure, was a bounty of well-written fiction, and stories that made me fall in love with these characters. I'd known the premise, and I knew and liked the stars, but never gave it a chance back in the 80's. Your stories, L., owlcroft, cheride, Jaz22, Lizabeth S. Tucker, et. al. made me order the series to see what I'd missed. And of course, now being intimately familiar with the episodes makes all of your tags and missing scenes that much richer. I am terrible about leaving feedback on the stories that I read, and I apologize for that here, as I do in my profile. But I want to give a hearty shout-out and a great big thank you to all of you who continue to write Hardcastle and McCormick stories. You all have a special place in my heart, as we know Mark and Milt have for one another.


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